


You Got Me Shook

by ImNeitherNor



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is a sap (but secretly), Billy says so, Camaro - Freeform, Car Love, Car Sex, He SHOWS so, M/M, Music, Seriously this was for fun, Steve's taste in music is shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 16:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: Steve's taste in music is shit, and if Billy had to dance to prove it, he would.And if that ends with Steve on top of his Camaro, Billy wouldn't complain.





	You Got Me Shook

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a one-chapter thing. I had surgery today, was a little stressed, and two fabulous babes helped me belt this out.
> 
> I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.
> 
> Reads, kudos, and comments are always appreciated.

         You Got Me Shook   

 

 

            “I swear, Harrington. You keep that shit up and I’ll end you,” Billy glanced over from the driver’s seat of the Camaro. He had somehow allowed Steve to take over the radio, and the guy had managed to find Bad Company’s _Feel Like Making Love_. Billy wanted to strangle him because Steve wasn’t just listening, he was _singing_ , and he wasn’t just singing—he was singing _at him_.

 

            “Jesus fucking Christ—“ Billy gripped the steering wheel. Why he thought taking this stupid, doe-eyed idiot on a date was a good idea was beyond him.

 

            “If I think about you, I think about loooove~” Steve was laughing and Billy was trying not to laugh, despite the urge to shove Steve out of his car at full speed.

 

            “Y’know, Harrington. Fuck this. You’ve gone and done this to yourself,” Billy took a sharp turn off of the main road, pulling the Camaro over the dirt and rocks until they were far enough into the wilderness that his car wasn’t noticeable from the street. “Your shit choice in music needs to be fixed. _Now_.”

 

            As soon as the handbrake was pulled, Billy was trying to shove Steve off him while he jabbed at his cassette player. Finally, the car switched from the radio (thank you, Jesus) to the tape and AC/DC blared over his speakers.

 

            “No, Harrington. Out,” Billy pointed and resisted the urge to kiss that stupid pout off of Steve’s stupid face. When the teen finally climbed out of his car, Billy smirked. He turned one of his favorite tracks up just enough that it would be able to be heard outside the car and stepped out.

 

            It was fucking cold, but that didn’t bother Billy. He’d give Steve a show if he wanted a show. He tossed his jean jacket on the top of his Camaro’s hood and then grinned his shit eating grin at Steve.

 

            “Sit down,” and Steve did, settling on the roof of Billy’s Camaro. His boy on _his car_.

 

            “Billy,” Steve’s voice was already breathy, and Billy licked his lips. He liked that, no matter what he did, Steve was always looking at him as if he expected the world to just fall. And most of the time, it did.

 

            When Steve heard the first guitar line, he laughed, realizing that Billy was playing _that fucking song_. He abruptly stopped as Billy sidled up in front of him, and his eyes dropped to Billy’s exposed abs because _of course they were_ and Billy started to roll his hips and Steve was lost. He slid back on the Camaro, elbows resting on the warm hood as Billy continued to roll his hips, his hands moving over his stomach, his chest, over his head.

 

            And then Billy started singing and Steve wondered how the _hell_ he didn’t know that Billy’s deep, husky voice could sound _so good_.

 

            “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean,” And Billy was leaning over the car, hand splayed on the hood so that he could literally _gyrate_ against Steve and he was gasping again. As soon as Billy leaned in far enough to brush his lips over Steve’s ear, he tried to kiss him, but Billy moved back with a laugh. Steve sat up enough so that he could fully appreciate the way Billy moved—how he turned and slid his hands over his hips and ass, looked over his shoulder at him, grinned while he sang.

 

            Steve wondered why it had taken him so long to see beyond Billy’s façade.

 

            The headlights on the Camaro sparkled off of Billy’s earring, and Steve was distracted again. Billy was singing the chorus now, and Steve could promise that he would _definitely_ shake him all night long, as long as he got the fuck over to the car. He almost slid off the Camaro, but Billy had turned around again and caged him there with his arms, his eyes glittering just as brightly as the Camaro’s lights and, despite the chill, his cheeks flushed pink with what Steve knew was desire.

 

            And then they were both singing the chorus, but it became sloppy and breathy as they started kissing, Billy was still half-attempting to sing but it was into Steve’s mouth, and the vibrations made Steve moan. He arched off Billy’s jacket, his Camaro, and swung a leg around Billy’s hips. Apparently, Billy wasn’t for that, not yet, and he twisted around so that he was out of Steve’s grip and singing again, loud and exhilarated and Steve could barely breathe.

 

            Billy was fucking _gorgeous_ like this.

 

            “Just another course—made a meal out of me, and came back for more,” Billy spread his arms above his head and laughed, and Steve’s heart thumped something fierce. As soon as Billy turned back to him, Steve narrowed his focus and crooked a finger at him. He was surprised when Billy obeyed, sauntering forward while belting out the lyrics. When he was in range, Billy reached out, curled his fingers into Steve’s cute little jacket, and pulled him so that he was sitting up.

 

            What Steve didn’t expect was for Billy to dance _on top of him_. The blonde threw his arm over his shoulder and tangled his fingers into his hair. They curled tightly, but not enough to hurt, and Billy began to roll his hips down against Steve’s lap. He was sure that if Billy did _just this_ , he’d cum in his jeans. He settled a hand on Billy’s abs and could feel them roll—clenching and relaxing—with each of his movements. It made Steve moan and slip his fingers further into his shirt, along his sides. Billy didn’t stop him (thank god), but he did lean down enough that his breath ghosted over Steve’s ear.

 

            “My mind was _aching_ ,” And Billy was grinding down into him and Steve was whimpering, “And we were making it and you~”

 

            Steve was going to kill Billy. It was going to happen because that asshole had moved away again and was pointing at Steve with a huge, ridiculous grin on his face.

 

            “Shook me aaaallll night long~”

 

            “Billy, I swear to fucking _god_ ,” Steve moved to get up and Billy shook his head at him. He grit his teeth. His frustration didn’t last long, though, because Billy was walking up to him— _prowling_ up to him—instead of his normal saunter. Steve swallowed, his mouth going absolutely dry as Billy took hold of his jacket again, pulled him up, and then twisted him around. Instead of pushing him over the hood, Billy slid his arms around Steve’s waist, pushing his hands beneath his jacket and spreading his fingers over his stomach, dipping just below the hemline of his jeans.

 

            “You had me shakin,” Billy’s voice was low now, husky against Steve’s ear as he popped his jeans open and eased the zipper down. Steve dropped his head back against Billy’s shoulder and moaned as those hands pushed his jeans to just below his thighs. As soon as Billy had him situated, with his legs spread as far as they could go, he pushed Steve so that his chest rest against the Camaro. Steve slid his arms over the hood and pressed his palms into the warm metal.

 

            Then, Billy was leaning over him and digging into the pocket of his jean jacket. He pulled out a bottle of lube and Steve almost commented, _almost_ , but Billy’s other hand was on his ass. His thumb was pressing against his hole and then pushing in with ease only because of their activities earlier that night. Billy’s cum coated his finger and his grin was wicked as he popped his thumb out and then pushed in again. Steve whimpered and rocked his hips back, always demanding, and Billy was always a fucking asshole, so of course he slid his thumb back out with a chuckle.

 

            “Wet for me, princess?” Billy had finally stopped singing, but that same huskiness was there, and if Steve listened close enough, there was a note of desperation. Billy wanted this just as much as Steve, but his self-control was so much better. Steve rolled his hips back and shuddered. He heard the top of the bottle pop open and held his breath.

 

            “Please, Billy,” Steve whined and Billy chuckled.

 

            Billy’s eyes lidded as he coated a couple of his fingers with lube. He planted one hand on the Camaro, next to Steve’s side, and moved his wet fingers to his hole. He massaged at first, watching Steve begin to unwind and squirm against his car, his baby, and he licked his lips. Two of his favorite things underneath him—and he enjoyed pushing _both_ to their breaking point.

 

            Once Steve was hissing and whining, Billy finally eased two fingers into his body. He knew it burned, and he watched Steve’s back arch. He wished Steve was naked. He should have stripped that damn jacket and shirt off, but it was cold, and he knew better. Instead, he moved his free hand to Steve’s and laced their fingers together. He pushed his fingers as deeply as he could at the same moment, relishing the small cry from Steve. On some level, he hoped it kept Steve from thinking about the way Billy held onto his hand.

 

            Billy heard Steve’s mumbled pleas and cursed under his breath. He pulled his fingers from Steve’s body, wiped the slick across the visible patch of skin on his lower back (and ignored the sound of indignation from Steve), and undid his own jeans enough to pull his cock out. He took the bottle of lube in one hand and squeezed. The chill on his cock made him hiss, but he didn’t fucking care because he _needed_ to be inside of Steve. He dropped the bottle on the ground and ran his fingers over himself, slicking the base to the tip.

 

            “Oh, fuuuuck,” Steve whined as soon as Billy pushed the tip against the ring and with slow pressure, popped passed it and sank inside of him. He curled his fingers against the hood of Billy’s Camaro, his left-hand tightening in Billy’s. He felt so _full_ of Billy that he was dizzy, and the burn of the stretch only made it better. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip as Billy began to move with punishing strength. No matter how hard Steve tried, he couldn’t muffle his sounds as his body was pushed harder into the Camaro, and some part of him _loved_ that. He loved that Billy would bend him over his precious car and fuck him raw against it.

 

            Steve could feel how Billy moved inside of him, how his cock almost brushed against that spot that made him see stars. _Almost_. He groaned in frustration and tried to shift, tried to push his hips back, but Billy’s hand planted itself on his lower back and held him still. Almost on the brink of begging, Steve pushed himself against the hood and hissed out as his cock slid over the metal.

 

            Billy could tell when Steve wanted something. If he didn’t say it, his body always did—whether it was his eyes or the way his hips rolled. He chuckled and then deliberately rolled his hips, but not just back and forth. Oh, fuck, no. Billy moved his hips in a slow circle, eyes calculating, lips parted as he sought to drive Steve insane. When Steve froze and then cried out, Billy knew that he had found what he wanted. He pushed his fingers into Steve’s back and began to thrust in that same spot, over and over, until all he could hear from Steve was garbled pleas and sobs.

 

            “Beg me,” Billy pulled almost all the way out and loved the cry of frustration, the roll of Steve’s hips, the way his knees were obviously shaking. The only thing that kept Steve from collapsing was Billy’s Camaro.

 

            “Please, _please_ , Billy, I wanna cum. I wanna—“ Steve choked on his next noise as Billy thrust into him, hitting the same spot, making him drown in want.

 

            “There’s my pretty boy,” Billy chuckled, but it was just as breathy as Steve’s words. He moved his hand from Steve’s back to his hip and then below, to his cock. He circled his fingers around him and only had to stroke twice before Steve was mumbling ‘ohfuckohfuck _Billy_ ’ and he was coming on the Camaro.

 

            Billy wasn’t far behind Steve, but he made sure that Steve was twitching and whimpering with over-stimulation before he finally came into Steve’s body. When he did, he dug his fingers into Steve’s hip hard enough to bruise and clutched Steve’s hand with the other. If Steve’s name tumbled out of his lips, it was barely heard over the music coming from inside his Camaro.

 

            And Billy could see them doing this forever, tangled together under the guise of the dark sky, the stars, and warmed by the hood of his Camaro.

 

 


End file.
